El Demonio
by rourke
Summary: The events immediately after TF
1. Default Chapter

El Demonio  
  
INTRODUCTION  
  
This story is rated PG-13.   
The days were hot in La Paz this time of year. A wave of dry heat fired its way through the bar, flaring tempers and thirst alike. The fat, stained, blood-and-shit-smelling "bartender" wiped his nose as he dropped an over-ripe olive into a martini poured into a used corona bottle. No one seemed to have issue with it as it seemed the right thing to do. He received the cash for the "craptini" and proceeded to scratch his ass under his pants. Vince would have grimaced, swore, and walked out regardless of the crew's wish to stay. Their need to stay. This was the shittiest place in La Paz, hell it didn't even have a name, but it was the safest place to be now. Especially after what happened. Leon scratched his four-day-old beard, his lack of finger nails angered him, his face was still itchy. He ignored it as he downed his latest corona. His fifth so far, and he was getting suspicious the fat man at the bar was charging too much. He swore to himself, cursing for not bothering to learn enough Spanish to deal with the locals. He stood out like a white man in a bar full of Mexicans. He forced back a laugh as he leaned back in the cushion-free booth, leaning his head against the wall and staring out a dirty window into the pavement-free street. "I hate this fucking place."  
  
A wide black shadow sauntered past the window, then disappeared as if it had never been there before. The locals in the bar ignored it, but Leon was somewhat curious, since the shadow reappeared when the door opened. It brought with it an even more searing heat that pissed off even the locals. The swearing only stopped when the door closed. It quickly stopped, falling into dead silence, as they saw who the shadow belonged to. Leon moved his gaze to the window again, hoping to go unnoticed, but knowing it would not happen. The locals turned their heads back to their drinks, conversations, and darts. The police officer seemed to fill up the bar, stretching the walls to their maximum, making them creak under the stress.  
  
The police officer coughed, like that of a 50-year smoker that didn't care anymore. He took off his hat and sunglasses, and put some chewing tobacco into his mouth. He chewed thoughtlessly as he surveyed the bar. His gaze did not stop as it passed Leon, still staring out the window. He went to the bar, received an envelope, and turned back to Leon. "This is it." Leon thought to himself. He couldn't start anything with the cop here, this wasn't the place for it. The locals would make sure he would be dead before he even got close to the jail.  
  
"What?" Leon stared up, the cop was standing so close he could smell the cheap aftershave. He must have zoned out. Just long enough for the cop to get close and get a good long look at Leon's face. "What dih you say?" He spit onto the window, the brown colour slowly dripped down the left side of the window. No one cared of course.  
  
"I said, 'it's hot'." Leon replied, looking at the cop now.  
  
He nodded, and looked over Leon. "Where you geh dat blood on your shirt?"  
  
"Does it matter?"  
  
"To some."  
  
"Are you 'some'?"  
  
"I asked..."  
  
Leon squinted out the window again, trying to remember something Dom told him to say in a situation like this. "I'm a codo." At that, the cop laughed, drawing the attention of the bar's local patrons.  
  
"El codo!" the cop laughed. The rest of them laughed as well, the bartender spit. The spit landed on the bar. Of course no one cared. The cop swatted Leon's feet of the table, letting them fall to the floor, and took a seat next to him. Leon, ready for a fight, sat up in the chair. "Relax el codo," he chuckled. "I'm no here to fight you."  
  
The locals turned away, angry no fight was going to happen. A few of the older ones stared on, hoping for a show. "Then why are you here, disturbing my corona?" Leon ventured, hoping that he still didn't get his ass killed. The Mexican cop stopped chewing, and spit the remainder of the tobacco onto the floor. "Are you looking for me?" Leon decided to get to the point.  
  
"Do you need to be looked for?"  
  
"You know, I'd like to get to the point."  
  
The Mexican lost his smile. "You should be more polite to a man risking his life to be in this shithole, cabron." Leon lost his smile too. What was this cop talking about? Was he even a real cop? What did he mean by risking his life, they had all agreed this shithole was the safest place to be right now. Sure, Leon would have preferred some hotel in Tijuana, but the FBI still had access to that city. La Paz was purely Mexican-controlled. "Whah is yo name?"  
  
"Leon."  
  
The cop seemed to search Leon's eyes, making a decision. The heat didn't seem to slow this man down, he was barely even sweating. He reached into his pocket and brought out the package of chewing tobacco, throwing the packet onto the table. He stood, "Stay out of trouble, or you won't be leaving La Paz with all your fingers. Get it cabron?" He stomped out of the bar and disappeared into the dust road. The locals paid no more attention to him or the cop. They were all too hot.  
  
Leon looked around, no one was paying attention to him now for sure. He picked up the tobacco bag and a folded post card fell out. The front had a naked woman on a white-sand beach. Written on the bottom right corner was "Cabo San Lucas!" He turned it over, keeping it as low-profile as possible. It was post-marked in Cabo San Lucas, with an address scrawled on it. He swore to himself again as he walked into the midday heat. How the hell was he going to get to Cabo San Lucas?  
-----  
"We think he is in La Paz, on his way to see Toretto." The FBI agent said sternly. As if everyone else was supposed to have known this already. He opened a black portfolio with several manila envelopes, photographs, and hand-written reports. "Our man just arrived in La Paz and saw him almost immediately."  
  
"So soon?" One of the nameless men said. Brian looked at all four of them. He had heard their introductions, been yelled at, and threatened. He hadn't paid much attention to any of them, nor had he attempted to defend himself. The physical evidence was there to provide proof of his story of the previous week's events. To tell the truth he was only beginning to pay attention. Special Agent Harden, now in control of the "Toretto Situation", was at the head of the table. His Los Angeles tan was faded. He lacked sleep, seemed stressed, and it showed. It seemed as though he'd been awake for days.  
  
"Blind luck, it seems." He replied. Harden frowned, then passed the photographs round the large oak conference table. "Leon was seen leaving the bus station our man arrived at, it seems they travelled closely together for some time before arriving at a bus terminal outside of La Paz."  
  
"We should pick him up." Another said, not really speaking to anyone in particular.  
  
"Mr. Spillner," Harden said ignoring the other man. "You are going to La Paz." 


	2. El Demonio Chapter 1

To respond to your comments thus far, THANK YOU! It has encouraged me to keep going. I wasn't sure if I'd even continue but my friends seem to like it so here I go. Oh, to answer a question, I think "el codo" in this sense means "cheapskate" so Leon was implying he was too cheap to get a real   
shirt, or buy a new one. My quirky sense of humor...  
----  
  
Letti swore under her breath. This damn heat was not was what she was planning for. She was   
already running low on water and would have to conserve what she had. How the hell was she going to   
get to Dom without being noticed? The FBI wanted her, she knew that much, that bastard Brian--or   
whatever his name--was an FBI agent who betrayed them. She entertained herself with ways to get   
even when next they met. Though he may not be looking for her, she kept a low profile. Since he   
didn't bring them all in his bosses at the FBI may have just fired him or something. She smiled   
slyly to herself, enjoying the vision of Brian cleaning up FBI bathrooms. She forced back a laugh.   
"It is ironic, no?"  
  
"What?" She said, turning her head toward the bus window.  
  
"Whatever it is dat is making you mad." The man said with a thick French accent. "It seems also to   
...make you smile." He offered a cigarette. Letti waved it off. Too many horror stories about   
accepting drug-laced cigarettes in this part of Mexico. Sure they were rumors but better safe than   
sorry. The French man shrugged it off, not seeming to care about her refusal. It seemed routine   
for him. After a long pause, "...am I right?" He said almost with a lisp. His shaggy, uncombed   
hair flowed down around his eyes, making him seem mysterious. He had a long scar that ran across   
the right side of his face, along the jawbone. It looked old, and probably had a long story behind   
it.  
  
"Yeah, guess so." She said pretending to be disinterested. "Where you going?"  
  
"Eh..." he began, taking a long drag from the cigarette. It smelled faintly of something familiar,   
but she couldn't quite get a hold of it. "I am just travelling." He shrugged. "Perhaps to Cabo San   
Lucas."  
  
"Why there? Its a long way. We're not even close to La Paz."  
  
He nodded, "Good destinations are only good because zey are far away, eh," he said smiling. Letti   
didn't even feel like smiling. This guy definitely like his jokes more than anybody else did. "You   
should go dere, I tink." He searched around his pocket for something. "I saw dis at my last stop.   
Take a look, I tink you'll like what you see." He produced a folded post card, she ignored the   
naked women on the front, and immediately flipped it over.  
  
She looked up at the French man, who was taking another long drag from the cigarette. The two-inch   
long stretch of ash at the end of the cigarette threatened to fall off but didn't.  
  
-----  
  
If it was one thing that Chris hated, it was the FBI. The feds came in wearing suits and attitude,   
thinking like they owned the place. In a few aspects they did. The secure ward he guarded was an   
example. The doctors and nursing staff themselves were trained FBI agents as well as members of the medical profession. So what if it was attached to a normal hospital? This was where the bureau put many of the state's criminals if they were injured upon arrest. Chris hated being there, hated the   
lack of air conditioning, the boring days, and moreover the lack of respect. He'd check their   
badges on the way in the ward, sure, but he'd been there for two years and no one had bothered to   
learn his name.  
  
He didn't even realize someone was right behind him before he lost consciousness.  
  
"Fuck!" Vince swore, "fuck, fuck, fuck!" he seethed.  
  
"So much for being quiet, dumbass." The unknown man that helped him to escape whispered as he   
checked the corner. Two agents were stationed at the end of the hall, and he signalled to Vince it   
was alright to proceed. They quickly moved from one side of the corridor to another, sweeping their eyes across the entire corridor as they changed sides, just in case it would provide them with a   
better vantage point. "If I have to kill anybody to get you out of this shithole, you're going to be sorry."  
  
"Fuck you," Vince said grabbing the dark sleeve closest to him. It got the attention of the unknown man. He knew that man could see the anger boiling in him. "I don't even know who you are yet."  
  
"If you're lucky you won't get to. Come on." He removed a silenced handgun from somewhere on his body and aimed carefully at the two agents. For the first time since he met him, Vince was quiet. He placed two fast shots, both kill shots, falling both of the agents. "Go!" They ran quickly down the hall and dragged the bodies into a nearby janitors closet...conveniently enough it seems the mysterious man had a key.  
  
"Change your clothes." He said firmly, taking off his mask and black shirt.  
  
"You called this fucking robe clothes?" Vince said to himself, busying himself with stripping the taller of the two agents. "Hey he isn't dead!" He said kicking the sleeping agent. "What the /i are you trying to pull?"  
  
"I don't want blood stains on the hospital floor," the man said quickly. "It tends to have the security camera operators wonder why."  
  
"Fuck you."  
  
The man sighed. What a great day this was going to be. 


	3. El Demonio Chapter 2

First: Thanks for all the feedback, it helps to keep me motivated.  
Second: Sorry for the lateness of this chapter. Too much damn homework.  
Third: Disclaimer: This is fanfic, please don't sue.  
  
BTW folks…no chicas here. Just your run-of-the-mill guy who likes TF&TF.  
  
--  
  
CHAPTER 2  
  
Leon squinted at the downing sun. The purples and oranges of the sunset were ignored as he desperately tried to eye the two men bearing down on him. They were driving a Honda 2000, in pretty excellent shape by the sound of the engine. He cursed the sun for being there in his rear-view mirror, and himself for not waiting until dark to skip town. He would have easily been able to get his black Honda Civic out of La Paz relatively unnoticed. He squinted as he tried to see who it was that was behind him. They were getting closer, he'd allowed that much. The sun kept him from seeing who it was sitting in the car, and he swore loudly as searing pain ripped its way through his eyes into the back of his head.   
  
He looked down at the passenger seat, now occupied by a .45 Colt. It looked as though it had been run over several times but had bullets and it looked like it could still fire. He hoped it would still fire, if he had to get into it. Who were those guys? He was pretty sure they were just after the car, this Civic was kitted very well. A flash of memory came back instantly of the whole crew working on the black civics. The long nights pretending to be as good a mechanic as the mad scientist…the fun they had just sitting and listening to the loud music. Days long gone, and they seemed too far away to even remember now. He frowned. The 2000 was almost on top of him now.  
  
The passenger in the Honda 2000 leaned out of the window with practiced ease. He'd obviously done this before. His gun was already in-hand and seemed aimed at the rear tires of the civic. Leon took a deep breathe and gunned the engine, fearful his foot would drive the pedal through the floor. He squinted again as the sun bore down on him on the right hand side…and he leaned into the hard right turn.  
  
He heard gunshots, but didn't pay attention to them much beyond the sound. The car didn't seem to be hit, and he was happy. It was obvious to him now that the two men didn't believe he was prepared for this. They were too busy thinking of the "easy score" to worry about an experienced driver. Some stupid American slumming in La Paz. He completed another right turn, now headed directly into the sunlight.  
  
The stabbing pain of the setting sun stung like hot needles. The pain seemed to go down into his spine. But it would also be in the eyes of his pursuers, too, making it much more difficult to shoot out the tires. He floored the pedal again, and was up to 100 mph in no time…he smiled. Even now it exhilarated him, boiled his blood, and fired up his soul. Even when chased by two would-be killers he felt overwhelmed by the raw power of this…thing at his command. This beast had a mind of its own, especially at this speed, in these circumstances. He became it, as it became him, and he embraced the feel of the speed, the power of the engine, and the raw fiery power of the car.  
  
He couldn't help but lean back in the seat, and put up arm to the rolled-down window.  
* * *  
  
The plane's in-flight movie was 1986's "Howard the Duck". Perhaps the cheesiest movie ever created, and worst of all: It didn't have any good cars in it. Brian leaned his head back in the seat and wondered why a 50-minute flight would bother having a movie. "You know," said the woman next to him. "I hate this fucking movie." Brian couldn't help but laugh, it was spontaneous and relieved him. He was feeling stressed at the "last chance" speech Special Agent Harden gave him not 2 hours ago. He turned his head to the left, away from the window, to look a the woman.  
  
Just-past-the-shoulder dark hair, curly, coupled with the greenest eyes he'd ever seen. "Yeah." Was all he could find himself responding.  
  
She smiled, huffing, "So far the movie's dialog was better than that."  
  
He forced back a laugh, "Brian Spilner."  
  
She didn't force it back this time, she laughed. "My name is Gina. So…Brian Spilner, that sounds like a serial killer's name."  
  
Brian laughed, "Believe it or not, I've had this conversation before."  
  
"Hopefully not in front of a judge or cop." She laughed, taking her headset off. Brian felt honored being more important than Howard the Duck. "I hate travelling alone on a plane, I much prefer my car. Why you going to La Paz."  
  
To find my friends, arrest them & take them to jail, then go back to the FBI. If all goes well I wouldn't have had to be forced to kill anyone. How about you? Brian felt like letting it all out, but he just couldn't. "I'm looking up some old friends. You?"  
  
"Vacation." She said matter-of-factly. She hesitated though, it was clear she knew he wanted to say more, but didn't have the strength in him. She seemed to accept it and move on, but she was more interested in him now. It seems, Brian thought, a little mystery goes a long way to get a woman's attention.  
  
He leaned in close, "Do you like cars?" 


End file.
